Caitlyn Janice Moore is the name and wickedness is the nature of my game. I'm a six-foot-tall, lean and athletic, blonde-haired and green-eyed Irishwoman living in the city of Ottawa, Ontario. I'm openly queer, and I am sole heiress to a multi-million-dollar fortune. By day, I am a Psychology student at the University of Carleton. At night, I am something el...
Chapter 1: Breaking Him In This is the first installment of many - one in which you can take part. Mail me, or visitmy group, tell me about yourself - or your alta ego. Each person a character in the scenario we build, woven together by story and however else we create it. Colour and creed are unimportant - come as you are and be what you have always felt,...
John Childs remembered the first time he met Mr. Harken. It was early spring in 1819, and he was working as a hand for the Overseer. John thought nothing of him and paid him little attention. To John he was just another hired hand. Although he was a white hired hand, he was still treated as such. John did not know of the harsh discipline he enjoyed when Mr....
My slave Martisha Jeans is so obedient. This big and tall, chubby and extremely dark-skinned, big-bottomed, forty-something Black woman does absolutely everything I tell her to do. She cooks and cleans and does it all with a smile. And I wouldn't have it any other way. Slaves must know their place. She's got to please me. After all, it's what I bought her fo...
I closed my grade book and looked up and out of my office window. The wind had shifted around, now coming from the west-southwest. The radio had said earlier that it would bring slightly warmer temperatures - if two degrees above freezing is slightly warmer - but that it would also bring at least several inches of snow. I could just see the first few flakes,...
The Tortured Spirit of Lover's Mountain The old black woman quickly wrung the rooster's neck, and then slit open the belly. The heart still throbbed as she spilled the entrails onto the floor of the cabin that housed her altar. Light from the many smoking candles lit the glistening, gruesome mass of ropy intestines and dark organs as she stirred through the...
In 1859, thirteen year old Victoria's father, Ambrose Whitfield, had the foresight to accurately predict the worst event to ever come to the United States, the Civil War. His 3,000 acre plantation, The Mist, as it had been named by Ambrose's grandmother. Set on the eastern bank of the great river near Port Hudson Mississippi. He owned 120 slaves and farmed 1...
(The attached is a work of fiction. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written permission of the copyright holder, except may be posted as part of a review or posted to free-access, non-commercial archive sights. Copyright 2002 by Don Byron. Please give me your comments.) * * * * * It all ha...
Chapter 1 It was a hot muggy night. Typical for New Orleans. You could hear jazz coming out into the streets from almost from every street corner. Everywhere you looked, you saw couples walking arm in arm. Larger groups of men or women were running around laughing or calling to other groups trying to gain some attention. No where could be found in the Fren...
Phoebe had been of the Cunning Plantation for weeks now, slowly getting to know the place whilst the family was away. The large plantation house fronted with columns of white stone was by far more grand than the one she had known as a child. Unlike many, it was built entirely of stone in defense of the often heavy Caribbean storms. The house itself was cir...